


Wind Coming Down

by Lullenny



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lullenny/pseuds/Lullenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Speak to me, baby / in the middle of the night / pull your mouth / close to mine" -- Moby</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind Coming Down

Jim listened to the rain push at buildings as he watched it sheet along the windows above his bed until the wind came down and broke the storm. The absence of sound came suddenly and without fanfare, but Jim heard things in the silence. For him, silence was a trickle of the last water drops racing to join up along flat surfaces. Silence was the building signing, the hushed breath of humid air in the absence of wind, and the never-ending tide of Blair's presence that flowed and ebbed inside Jim's walls. 

Sock feet on the stairs was a small, glad sound that Jim thought he wouldn't hear tonight. He turned onto his side in his bed, waiting. In the wake of realization that Blair was joining him despite the hardships of the day, the nearly soundless meld of drop to drop to drop against the glass above seemed gentle rather than cold, and he was contented under the wet windows instead of lost in the black sky. All sounds were small, now; all sounds were tender, so when Blair entered Jim's room, Jim's voice was a warm drop in a still pond. "Hey." 

"This okay?" 

"Yes. Yes." 

Jim raised the covers and Blair rolled into the bed, still wearing his socks. They moved around each other, settling into the mattress and situating the covers and the pillows. Blair doubled his pillow and clutched it tight, curling into an S shape on his side facing away from Jim. Jim fit into him from behind and then all was silent again. Long breaths. Blair's hair clouding under his chin. The stillness grew, and Jim's heart began to pound because it seemed Blair was nearly asleep, something he never did in Jim's bed. 

"Talk to me," whispered Jim. 

Blair turned in his arms. Their legs slipped together in a lover's weave. He brought his mouth close to Jim's, and Jim could feel the heat of him on his lips. Blair's words were quiet caresses, each one of them. "Did the storm wake you?" 

"No." 

"I always wonder if the loud ones bother you." 

"I've seen hundreds of storms." 

"You've weathered them." 

"Yes. All of them." 

Blair's lips grazed Jim's cheek, and then his mouth was close to Jim's ear. "I get afraid of storms, sometimes, the really loud ones. When they're close." 

"They always blow out to sea." 

"Sometimes they do a lot of damage, though." 

Jim turned his head so he could feel Blair's mouth on his ear, his warm breath. "And they bring rain." 

Blair hummed _uh-huh_ against Jim's ear and opened his mouth against Jim's neck. "Rain. Things grow." 

And Jim flushed, warm all over because Blair got it; Blair understood. "Oh, yeah. Things grow good." Jim rolled over him and he caged Blair's face with his hands and he brought his mouth down so he could feel Blair's lips, and he said, "Talk to me, baby." 

"You smell so good. Sometimes I wish I was a sentinel so I could smell you all the time, and then sometimes I'm glad I'm not or else I'd go insane, smelling all the time and wanting you even if I'm pissed at you, or wanting you when I can't have you." Blair's words were kisses, and Jim pushed into them, ignoring the thunder of anger hiding in the desire of them. "Just a touch, sometimes. Just your fingertips on my arm in the station is like, is like, god. I melt as if you were licking my cock instead of just tapping me to get my attention, and I want it, oh, man, I want it so bad and I hate it because it's outside of my control and we can't, not there, not in the station, not anywhere --" 

Jim pushed harder and sealed his mouth over Blair's to swallow his words straight to this gut, and then he used his tongue to find any words left hiding in Blair's mouth. He found no words but many moans, and he could hear more trapped in Blair's chest, rumbling and agitated. Jim broke away to say, "Here. Here. Here," and he planted each word with a kiss on Blair's brow, careful of the cut over the left eye. 

"Yeah, yeah," said Blair. He bared his throat, an eloquent request Jim answered. Jim gently scraped the long tendons with his teeth. He lipped along the left collarbone, and then the right, and then he lapped the hollow between them where Blair was concentrated: the taste of salt, the drum of his pulse. He felt Blair's hands on his arms, slide up his shoulders, and then curve around his neck. His fingertips brushed back and forth over the short hair of his hairline where it had been shaved, a straight line across the back of his neck. 

Jim imagined pressure in the caress so he flowed with it, down, tunneling under the blankets until he nosed into the boxers. Dark scent, rich scent, he wanted to rub into it, and he did, rubbing his face over Blair's groin, feeling the hard cock and the small wetness in the fabric. He pulled the boxers down, tugging and pulling them to mid-thigh and then losing patience and burying his face into the dry riverbed where thigh met body: hard thigh on one side, scratchy hair and hot length on the other. Jim kissed and licked -- it was like eating -- and the he turned his face and mouthed the side of Blair's erection and it lurched toward him, blind and needy. Jim licked the head, and then sucked it in, coated it with spit, sucked it in deeper, and Blair groaned and pulled at his head. 

"Turn, turn. You, I want to, too," and Blair's hands urged not Jim's head, but his shoulders, and then his hips out of the blankets, and he snaked awkwardly out of his boxers, and then arranged himself and Jim until they lay naked, sideways across the bed. Jim melted into the blankets because he loved to do this, suck and be sucked, and refilled his mouth with Blair's cock just as he felt Blair's hands curve around his thighs. Blair's mouth opened on his dick, and Jim was slow erupting lava all under his skin, boneless, nerveless, nothing but blinding-hot lust. Their bodies aligned, side by side, belly to belly, heads to cocks, each with one arm wrapped strong around the other's hips, hugging hard, the other hand free to steady the cock, stroke the balls and drive each other wild. 

Jim almost heard the _click_ when their stomachs came together like that. Their bodies were odd mirrors set end to end, and they worked like cogs, a flawless, messy machine of nothing but pleasure. Mouths full, neither made much noise, and what quiet noises Blair did make were exciting for the chained nature of them. Wet, quiet moans muffled with Jim's cock, Jim's cock in that vibrating heat, the beat of Blair's heart against his belly, the rush of blood in Blair's veins when his thighs came together and covered Jim's ears. 

"Yes," Jim wanted to say. His hips acquired sentient want and snapped forward, and Blair moaned louder and rolled back, just a little, and Jim pushed him over until he was on top and drilled in. The cock in his mouth stiffened more, hard and twitching on his tongue. He tasted the salty head, and he felt Blair clamp his thighs tighter and his torso heave and he was crying out around Jim's cock and Jim's mouth flooded. He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, and Blair's orgasm rushed through him and became his own. Jim shouted with the intensity of it, and he was surprised how Blair's hard dick between his lips softened the shout, muffled it, and made it sound like it belonged in the heartfelt stillness under the black sky. 

Jim watched Blair's chest heave until he swallowed noisily and calmed. And then Jim looked at Blair's face: the cut along his left eyebrow, his closed eyes, a bead of sweat clinging to his temple, and the grin that softened to a closed-mouth smile and lingered. The bed felt like a nest to Jim, and he and Blair were animals heaped together, snug and warm from the cold damp outside. 

Blair shifted then, rolled closer to the bed's edge, and Jim remembered the storm. Jim moved, wiggled to the usual placement of a body on a bed, head on the pillow. He settled into the pillow and pulled the blankets straight. "C'mere," he said. Blair sat up, crossing his legs, and regarded him a long moment. Jim patted the pillow next to his and said again, "C'mere. Lay down." 

"The storm is well and truly gone. Right?" 

"Blown out to sea." 

Blair sighed, and his breath quavered, just a little. 

"Sleep with me," said Jim. "It's the middle of the night. Sleep with me." 

Blair moved forward and dug under the covers, eeling around until his head was on the pillow next to Jim's. Jim could see the troubles from the past few days stitch Blair's brows together, and then the wince when the cut pulled. 

"I wish I could go back," said Jim softly, "and beat the living shit out of those hired goons that Ventriss put on you." 

Blair scooted closer and they wove their legs together again. Jim heard the click in his throat when Blair swallowed. "I wish a lot of things, sometimes," said Blair. Jim felt love come out of Blair in the way he strove to be the best partner Jim had ever had, in the way his muscles were lax against Jim, in the way his breath was warm in Jim's face, and in the way he pushed past the storms between them. 

Jim reached out, listening. Mist haunted the city, but the rain fell only on the ocean, far away. Blair's breathing slowed, and he slumped into Jim, a hushed hill of rushing blood and soft air and the muffled cadence of his steady heart all speaking to him. Silence returned, but for Jim, it was never truly empty. 


End file.
